The Atham Manor (Slow Updates)

We Need to Talk

Henry brought me home right after school and I'd never felt so guilty in my life. Like if he looked at me a little harder, he could see remnants of Alex's touch on me. His effect on me. My desire for him. It felt wrong. I knew it was wrong. As soon as the day was over, I told Anika and Jenn to never leave me alone with him again. They agreed after some pouting on Jenn's end, and I avoided looking at Alex's direction until we were long out of sight.

"Are you okay, love?"

I peeked up at him as we walked inside the manor before nodding. "Just thinking."

"Okay," He brushed my braid from my face, and guilt swelled in me like a geyser. Henry felt it, if the sudden furrow of his eyebrows was anything to go by, and I pulled away, looking for something else to latch onto and make conversation about. My eyes dropped to his hand and I grabbed it, sliding up his polo sleeve. Scarless porcelain skin greeted my sight, and I gave him a relieved smile.

He flexed his fingers, wiggling them experimentally. "All better."

"Good." I laced our fingers together and then perked up. "And Warren?"

"Alive and healing." Henry led me through the kitchen and through another wide sitting room before taking a right. He stopped short as we came to a big doorway. The acrid smell of blood was in the air, and the food in my stomach curdled. I pushed away the scent I could practically taste and turned to Henry.

"You wanted to see him, so I'll let you. He already had blood to curb his appetite, but I'm sure he could use some more." He gave me a smile a lot looser than this morning, like he was still testing my response.

I gave him a grin. I had washed all my bad feelings down the drain this morning. I could do the same with the guilt I felt over Alex. Right now, Warren was alright, and that was all that mattered. Henry used his free hand to push open the heavy door.

The smell of blood hit me like a wall, and it took all my willpower not to cover my nose. The room was old and haunting. Dim light only came from the windows and bloodied sheets covered several thin white cots stationed around the room. Tools littered on rusty old carts like something you'd find in a history book. I shot Henry a bewildered look.

"That's what our healer uses."

"Healer?"

Just as my eyes fell on the only used cot, a tall man in a long black coat stepped away from Warren, who looked worse for wear. He had a few shallow cuts along his face, shoulders, and arms, and everything clavicle-down was covered by a clean white sheet.

My eyes shifted to the tall man in the coat, and my jaw dropped. He was an honest to God plague doctor, dressed in long robes and the bird mask. His gloved fingers clasped together behind his back, and he lowered his bird beak face in a... bow, I think.

Henry tilted his mouth toward my ear. "Roland is a Pureblood, but he's still stuck in the 1600s. He was a physician during the Bubonic Plague."

I struggled to keep my face neutral. "Weren't they evil?"

"Short answer, no." Henry pulled me along and I grimaced as Roland backed up and started twiddling with a strange tong-like pair of scissors. "Roland, I thank you for your assistance. We'll be calling on you shortly. I'm sure Michael could use your talents." Again, Roland lowered his bird beak, and he disappeared the next moment, his tools in hand.

Warren gave me a lazy smile as he saw my face. "Roland has extremely strong healing abilities. He didn't use it frequently as he does now for fear people would think he was a warlock. If we didn't call him yesterday, I'd probably be dead." He said it jokingly, but my heart clenched in my chest. Walking to his side and cupping his face, I felt my own hands tremble at the cold of his skin. His powers weren't even detectable under the surface. He was nearly defenseless right now.